I’m 42. Again.

Because the whole time last year, whenever someone asked for my age, I made myself a year older than I actually was. A bit of a dumb move because who does that? But there’s two types of people in the world: those who pretend to be younger than they really are, and then there’s me. Either way we’re all out here seeking the fountain of youth. It’s just that some of us can’t do basic maths.

Either I’m 42 or 28. That’s it. Those are the two numbers I’m gonna be sticking with from now on.

Or maybe just 28 because the delusion can be quite delicious. That’s my magic number right there — the sweet spot where you’re neither too young to be totally naive nor too old to be a fcking cougar. There’s a sense of emotional maturity and financial independence — things I definitely did not have when I was 28 but no need to get personal here.

For my birthday, all I wanted was a Lana del Rey record. Specifically, the Norman Fucking Rockwell album whose songs I have been obsessively listening to nonstop as of late. I had been looking for it in my local Jb Hifi’s but they didn’t have it. So when we went to Chadstone, I didn’t really get my hopes too high up.

So imagine my delight when, after searching for the unicorn album everywhere on the display shelves with no success, a towering staff in wide-legged denims and brown cropped top whose pronouns were probably ‘they/them’ helped us look and found the store’s only copy — the LAST copy! — in one of the crates filled with random vinyls on the floor. I could’ve hugged them right there and then!

But even better, Jeff paid for it. 🙂

Dinner was at BBQ-K at Endeavour Hills so my sister can use the $50 voucher she got the last time we went there to celebrate her birthday.

I didn’t mind it. I actually like the place. It’s bad because it’s all-you-can-eat and I have this tendency to try to eat my money’s worth but at the same time, their wagyu is really good and it’s fun grilling your own meat.

Nevermind smelling like barbecue yourself when you walk out the door.

Indeed, I have a lot that I am grateful for. The older I get, the more appreciative I am of my wealth. My definition of it probably differs from yours but I’m here, I’m alive, I’m happy. I have a beautiful home and a wonderful family.

There’s blossoms on my cherry and apple trees. My fig tree is already promising me a few fruits.

And Lana del Rey is playing on my record player.

Life is good.

*Raven at 9 years old